Shock exploded through Rowan. Relief. Huge relief. Coral had escaped the shuttle! Rowan hated the weaver. She was insanely jealous of everything Coral was. But at that moment, Rowan could have kissed her.
They ran toward the bridge.
They were racing down the corridor when blasts pounded the Byzantium's shields.
Through a porthole, Rowan glimpsed the basilisk fleet opening fire.
A human ship exploded. Another. A third. More blasts hit the Byzantium, rocking the frigate.
They bounded onto the bridge, and Bay grabbed the comm.
"All Exodus Fleet vessels, gather behind the Byzantium!" Bay shouted. "This is Major Bay Ben-Ari. Do not engage the enemy. Follow me!"
Coral walked toward the viewports at the head of the bridge. She closed her eyes, and her hands began to glow.
Another laser beam hit the Byzantium. The frigate rocked. A control panel shattered. Smoke filled the bridge. Rowan cursed, leaped toward the gunnery station, and opened fire. She fought with one hand; the other hung uselessly, covered in blood. Her shells pounded one Rattler, destroying the alien warship. But thousands more flew behind it.
Another human starship exploded.
Rowan fired again and again, taking out another Rattler—a grain of sand in the desert.
"Coral, you better hurry, sweetheart!" Rowan shouted. The Harmonians were glowing in her wound, and the blood flow was easing, giving Rowan more strength. Not that it was helping much now.
Before them, a shimmering portal opened—this one large enough for starships.
Coral was trembling. Tears flowed down her cheeks. Blood dripped from her fingertips.
"Hurry," she whispered.
Bay shoved down the throttle, and the Byzantium roared forth into the portal. They streaked down a tunnel of light. But this was not a solid wormhole like those in the Tree of Light, the great intergalactic highways the ancients had built. The walls were flimsy, mere strands of light, revealing glimpses of the bizarre landscapes beyond.
Behind them, a few other starships were entering the portal.
"Hurry," Coral whispered again. Her legs shook. Her nose was bleeding.
Rowan ran toward the weaver and held her up.
"You can do this, Coral," she whispered. "Just a little longer."
More ships entered the wormhole. A hundred or more. When Rowan glanced at the rear viewport, she saw the entrance of the wormhole collapse, leaving most of the human fleet back in Earth's orbit.
The tunnel walls were fraying.
We're about to spill into the void, Rowan thought.
"You can do this, Coral!" she said, holding the weaver. "I'm with you. Be strong."
Coral would have fallen were Rowan not propping her up. Blood poured now from Coral's ears.
"So much light," Coral whispered. "So many paths. So much pain. Evil. I see evil. Snakes. A snake queen. I can't …"
Ahead, Rowan saw the end of the tunnel. The portal back into the universe.
"Bay, you better fly us fast!" Rowan shouted.
He floored the throttle, leaning into it. He flipped a switch, and a boost of afterburner blazed from their engines. They rocketed forth. A hundred other starships followed.
"I can't …" Coral wept. "I'm falling. I …"
The portal ahead began to fade away.
Rowan screamed.
The Byzantium shot through the luminous opening—back into space.
The other spaceships followed, one by one, popping out from the wormhole. A dozen. Fifty. More. Then—
Coral's eyes rolled back, and she lost consciousness in Rowan's arms.
The portal vanished behind them, swallowing the last few human starships.
Rowan fell to her knees, dropping Coral onto to the deck. The pain in her arm pounded through her. Vaguely, she was aware of the glow in the wound. The Harmonians had closed the hole in her bone, were now weaving muscle and skin back together. But Rowan didn't spare this miracle a second thought.
The basilisks are bombing our fleet back home. Were we wrong to fly out here? We need to return! To defend Earth! But we can't. Coral is unconscious, maybe dying! We have no more portal.
Rowan trembled. Fewer than a hundred ships had made it through the portal. What was happening to those lost in the collapsing wormhole? What of the nine hundred who remained at Earth? Could they reestablish the ceasefire, or when Rowan returned, would she find her homeworld destroyed, the fleet gone and colony burned?
Her head spun. It was not supposed to be this way. Rowan was supposed to fly out here to find hope. To bring humanity home in a great exodus. Instead, she felt lost, alone, and afraid. Hope, that guttering candle, seemed almost entirely gone.
Bay began tending to Coral, soothing and whispering to the unconscious weaver. Rowan left them. She walked toward the viewport and gazed outside.
They were hovering in open space, many light-years away from Earth. A few dozen ships, most battered and broken.
"We must find more humans out here," she whispered. "We must light the fires of hope—and bring the light home."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Emet soared in his Firebird, gripping the joystick, teeth grinding as the G-force shoved against him like a boulder.
Flying a starfighter was a young man's job. It had been years since Emet had piloted one of these small, roaring ships. It rattled madly, rising on a geyser of flame, propelled through the atmosphere at furious speed.
He was flying thirty times the speed of sound. Ten times faster than a bullet. Every second, he soared ten kilometers. And hated each one.
But he had seen it from the ground. Explosions above like falling stars. Debris raining. A battle in orbit.
Emet growled.
I will not let my fleet be destroyed.
His Firebird breached the atmosphere and glided through space. The rattling and fire ended, but his fear only grew.
Above he saw it. The battle.
Most of his fleet was still in orbit. And the basilisks were pounding them. Lasers slammed into warships and freighters. Emet watched as a tanker cracked open, spilling crates across orbit. A cargo hulk burned.
Earth's fleet was perhaps a hundred starships short. Had they managed to escape using Coral's wormhole? Or had the basilisks destroyed them?
Humanity's warships were fighting back hard. They answered lasers with shells and photon bolts. Their fury was devastating, shattering Rattlers above them. Yet with thousands of basilisk warships, and with millions more at Xerka's disposal, it was not a battle Earth could win.
The basilisks had been jamming their signals. But Emet broadcast on the aliens' own frequency.
"Naja—enough!" He flew his Firebird toward the enemy fleet. "This is Emet Ben-Ari, president of Earth. Respect the ceasefire!"
The enemy warships turned toward him.
The battle paused.
The small monitor on his Firebird, no larger than his palm, turned on.
Naja stared at him.
Nausea rose in Emet. If the basilisk viceroy had eyes, his spiky metal helmet covered them. But Emet could swear the creature was staring at him. Naja parted his jaws, revealing rows of fangs, and hissed.
"King Ape." Naja cackled. "Did you come here to grovel?"
Emet slowed his Firebird. He hovered before the Rattler sending the signal—a warship the size of a skyscraper, long and coated in black scales.
"It will be you who grovels once the Galactic Council hears of your aggression," Emet said. "You lost the war! Your scorpion masters were slain, and you surrendered! Your assault on our fleet constitutes a breach of that surrender. Fire another laser, and the wrath of the galaxy will descend upon you."
Naja sneered. Fury twisted his jaws. "Earth still lies within our empire, ape. We have a right to enforce our blockade, and—"
"I saw you fire on ships in orbit!" Emet said. "Ships respecting your blockade."
Naja reared. "Your ships escaped! A hundred or more! Using wretched sorcery, and—"
"And
they are gone," Emet said. "And now you fire on humble freighters and tankers."
"We may do as we like. This is our world, ape. You will die too."
The Rattlers inched closer, cannons hot. Emet perhaps had only seconds to live.
"Earth's status is still undetermined, snake," Emet said. "The Galactic Council has not yet voted. They have not yet decided which race is rightful owner of this planet. Your actions against us do not constitute a defense of your territory. Rather, a continuation of the Galactic War—which we humans won! Fire again, by all means. Kill me if you like. Our ships—the ones beyond your blockade—will be glad to report you to the Council." Emet tilted his head and tapped his chin. "I wonder. What will Xerka, your queen, do when an Aelonian fleet arrives here to enforce your surrender treaty? When they destroy your armada?"
For a moment—silence.
Emet was still alive.
That was encouraging.
Naja's lips peeled back, revealing those rows of fangs in his hellish mouth. His saliva dripped.
"You may feel safe now, ape," the basilisk said. "But your days of grace will soon end. Your precious Council will not protect you forever. And once your auspices are withdrawn, this will be your fate!"
Naja slithered aside, revealing the bridge behind him.
Emet leaned forward, gripping his cannon triggers.
"You bastards!" he spat.
The basilisks had captured humans during the battle—perhaps ejected from their shattered starships, perhaps stolen by boarding parties.
They hung from chains behind Naja, dangling above the floor. Juvenile basilisks slithered below, leaping up, and devouring the humans alive. Some humans were already missing legs. One man was consumed halfway up the torso. The prisoners screamed into their gags as the young snakes tore off strips of flesh, guzzled them down, then reared up for more.
Emet knew those people.
He knew their families.
They stared into his eyes, pleading.
Emet's hands trembled around the triggers.
He wanted to fire. To give them a merciful death. To slay Naja and the whole damn lot of them.
By sheer force of will, muscles protesting, he pulled his hands back.
Naja reappeared on the screen. In his jaws, he held a severed hand. He gulped down the meal.
"Try to break the blockade again, old man," he hissed. "I cannot wait."
The transmission died.
Emet hovered in his Firebird, gazing up at them. At the remains of his fleet. At the enemy warships closing in. Constricting Earth. Waiting to strike.
But my children made it out, Emet thought. And a hundred ships with them. Tell our tale, Leona. Bring us more humans, Bay. Both of you—bring us hope.
He flew back toward Port Addison. The feral basilisks, unbound by galactic treaties, were assaulting the colony again. From the wall, the humans fired their guns. Blood sprayed the land.
The war for Earth continued.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ninety-three human starships floated through the vastness of space. Dented. Some cracked. Some leaking fuel. They were a light-year from Earth. Inside them flew only a handful of heroes. On their shoulders—the fate of their home.
Leona stood on the bridge of the Byzantium, a mighty frigate, flagship of the Exodus Fleet. She gave Rowan a long, warm embrace.
"Be careful out there, little one." Leona kissed the girl's forehead. "And take care of Bay."
Rowan nodded. "I will. I always do."
Beside them, Bay bristled. "Hey, I can take care of myself, you know."
Rowan scoffed and patted him. "Bay, just this morning, you fell outside our tent and landed face down in the vegetable patch."
"That's because you tied my shoelaces together!"
Rowan grinned and mussed his hair. "And it was hilarious."
Leona stifled a smile. She turned toward her little brother. "Goodbye, Bay."
They embraced for a long time. Leona didn't want to let him go. Her brother had run away at age fourteen, had hidden for a decade before finally coming home. Over the past few years, since Bay had returned into her life, Leona had come to love the young man. He was not as gruff and ruthless as some of the other warriors, perhaps. But there was great strength to him.
"You do know I can take care of myself," Bay said. "Right, sis?"
Leona nodded. "I know. You flew into the path of a missile to save Ayumi. You lost your arm, were willing to lose your life, to save us. You hurled yourself into danger time and time again, facing the alien hordes. You flew into the very heart of the scorpion empire to save Rowan. You are a good man. You are strong, and brave, and capable. At least, when shoelaces aren't foiling you." She grinned and squeezed him. "Goodbye, Bay."
They walked her to the airlock, where they exchanged more hugs—and a few tears. If all went well, they would see each other again in a year. But Leona heard the unspoken words.
The galaxy is full of danger. The basilisks—and many other species—still want us dead. We might never meet again.
Leona dived from the airlock, leaving them behind. Perhaps forever.
With her jetpack, she glided away from the Byzantium and the Exodus Fleet it led. She flew toward her own ship, far smaller and humbler: The HDFS Cagayan de Oro.
Leona's old, beloved Nantucket had fallen in battle on Akraba. But the Cagayan de Oro was as comforting as a childhood home. It was the starship on which Leona had learned how to fly. She had spent countless hours during her youth flying this loyal corvette. She was among the oldest ships still in service, but every scar on her hull was a testament to her strength. Leona thought her the best ship in the cosmos.
"We'll travel the ocean again, my Cagayan de Oro," Leona said softly. "Like in the old days."
She floated into her ship. It always felt like coming home.
Tom had flown into the Cagayan de Oro earlier to calibrate the engines and chart a course. He was waiting in the cockpit, sitting in the copilot's chair. He smiled at Leona. The Man on the Mountain himself, the loner, the survivor—he actually smiled.
"Ready for an adventure, Leona?"
She couldn't help but smile too.
"You like being out here in space, don't you?" she said.
Tom leaned back in his chair. "The colony is beautiful. But it gets … stifling."
Leona couldn't help but laugh. "So the confines of this small ship must be better."
"Fewer people," Tom said. "It's funny. I've spent the past decade of my life fighting for humans. And yet I find it difficult to be around them."
She raised an eyebrow. "I hope I'm at least tolerable."
He smiled at her—and there was true warmth in his smile. "I'm glad to have you here. You're one human I love having close."
She took the yoke and raised the Cagayan de Oro's prow. They began to fly, leaving the rest of the fleet behind. Leona turned around once, and she watched the other ships become smaller and smaller until they were dots of light. Then she took a deep breath and faced forward again. Faced the vast emptiness. Faced a galaxy in chaos.
"We have a year," she said. "It seems so long—an entire year in space! But considering our task, it seems so short. Only a year before the Galactic Council redraws the maps. Before we know who Earth belongs to."
"It will be ours," Tom said. "We'll find the allies we need. We'll share our story. We'll sway them. When it's time to vote, they'll vote for humans."
Leona heaved a sigh. "Tom, I've spent my years in the Heirs of Earth traveling from world to world, seeking humans to save. For a decade, I must have visited … Ra, close to a hundred worlds, I reckon. I've never met an alien who liked humans. We're pests to them."
"That was before the war," Tom said. "Before the scorpions butchered us. And before we rose and defeated them, saving the galaxy. The galaxy saw. The galaxy knows. And if they don't know, we'll tell them. They'll recognize humanity's worth."
But Leona was less hopeful. Tom had traveled the galaxy too d
uring his time as a Peacekeeper. But he had not visited human communities. He had not seen the hatred. Could they truly change hearts and minds? Could aliens who had loathed humans for thousands of years suddenly recognize their a homeworld?
We're cockroaches to them, Leona thought. And I must somehow make us look like butterflies.
"So where do we start?" Tom said. "There are a whole lotta species out there."
Leona thought for a moment. "We'll start with species who are friendly. Or at least, less likely to shoot us. Once we can secure their support, we'll move to choppier waters. How about we start with the Menorians?"
"Giant purple octopuses?" Tom nodded. "Sounds good to me. I've always wanted to see the ocean."
"Great. And Aurora is a Menorian. She's an old family friend." Leona grabbed a lever. "Ready for warp speed?"
Tom grimaced. "I'm never ready for the jump. I always feel like it knocks the soul right out of my bones."
"That's what happens when you bend reality around you." Leona shoved the lever down. "Here goes."
In the heart of the Cagayan de Oro, the azoth crystal ignited.
Her father had spent a fortune on the crystal; it cost more than the ship it was installed in. It was no larger than Leona's thumb. But it was precious. Mined on Corpus, a distant moon, azoth could bend spacetime. Azoth, which humanity had discovered over two thousand years ago, made interstellar travel possible.
Possible and—as Leona knew well—quite unpleasant.
Spacetime bent around her, the very fabric of the universe. Reality blurred.
Leona had a cybernetic implant in her skull, able to slow down her perception of time. But this was different. Now time itself twisted and coiled and squeezed her.
She hovered above her body, gazing down at an elderly woman, hair white and skin so frail, a woman in a distant land of golden fields under lavender sunset.
She was a child, running through a starship, playing with her friends.
She was a widow on a beach, grieving over the corpse of her husband.
She was outside the starship, consciousness in the void, expanding to fill the emptiness.
Time and space warped around the ship, finally forming a bubble.
The War for Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 4) Page 12
